


xviii. hostage

by tempestaurora



Series: it's okay, we're okay [whumpvember 2018] [18]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Violence, Whumptober, hostage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 15:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16663777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestaurora/pseuds/tempestaurora
Summary: “Stark,” the gunman said. “Me shooting this kid is the least of your worries.”It would never be the least, Tony knew. But there was a lot of other worries surrounding it, namely how he’d get Peter out of the situation, and how he was already bleeding profusely from his right shoulder, where a bullet had already pierced into his skin from when the gunners had initially entered.Peter’s eyes had widened and his breath had caught and a second later he was shot through. He’d dodged, minutely, and it meant all the difference. The bullet would’ve gone straight through the centre of his chest if he hadn’t.“I’ll be honest,” Tony said, his gun trained on the two, “you holding a kid hostage is pretty high on my list.”





	xviii. hostage

**Author's Note:**

> me: today's gonna be a cute fic!  
> also me:

It happened in less than a minute.

No build up, no monologuing, no preamble. One minute they were sitting in a diner, and by the time sixty seconds had passed, Peter was on the floor, there was mass panic and puddles of blood were seeping out across the black and white tiles.

Tony was on his feet then, forcing himself to look away from Peter’s prone body – there were still guns shooting, still screams echoing. He couldn’t get stuck on Peter when the building was going up, so as he removed himself from the booth, he pulled his watch into the emergency gauntlet, metal unfurling and slipping into place around his fingers. It was good for maybe three blasts, the repulsor that sat against his palm now. Three blasts and five men with guns still firing.

He shot the first one in the aisle between booths, watching them forced back into the host’s stand by the door. Tony ducked as a gun turned on him, the windows shattering as the bullets flew through the air, right where he’d been standing.

“Get on Stark!” someone yelled.

He put six and nine together in a heartbeat, staring into the eyes of a petrified woman beneath the booth he was hiding by. A diner he visited every Wednesday with Peter. Not being surprised by his presence.

_They came for you, asshole._

He was up on his feet a moment later, jumping onto the booth and over the fake plant divider that ran the length of the diner. On landing, he rolled, shot with his repulsor at a gunman, sending him straight back into a table and chair that collapsed under his weight.

A bullet shot straight past his face and he swore, ducking away. Tony threw a nearby chair at the man who’d shot him, stopping him for just a moment before darting over and yanking the handgun he was holding.

Tony shot him once through the shoulder and a second time through the calf. The guy sprawled and Tony watched the blood spurt for only a second before he was turning, searching.

Five guys. There had been five guys and he’d only taken down two.

Then: _Peter._

“Mr Stark!” Peter’s voice called out from across the restaurant.

Tony ducked down, making his way across the room via the guy he’d dropped near the door. With the gun raised, he moved out into the aisle where he saw Peter on his feet, an arm secured around his neck and a gun pressed firmly against his temple.

Bad guy number four.

Where was number five?

“Hey, hey,” Tony said, the back of his mind whirring through seven problems at once. When would the police get here? When would help arrive? “Come on, let’s not shoot a kid.”

Tony and Peter met eyes for a moment, and Tony couldn’t figure out what message to send to him. _Be calm? You’ll be okay? I love you?_ The last one flew in and out of his mind too fast to catch or analyse, which was fine, because this was no time for analysing.

“Stark,” the gunman said. “Me shooting this kid is the least of your worries.”

It would never be the least, Tony knew. But there was a lot of other worries surrounding it, namely how he’d get Peter out of the situation, and how he was already bleeding profusely from his right shoulder, where a bullet had already pierced into his skin from when the gunners had initially entered.

Peter’s eyes had widened and his breath had caught and a second later he was shot through. He’d dodged, minutely, and it meant all the difference. The bullet would’ve gone straight through the centre of his chest if he hadn’t.

“I’ll be honest,” Tony said, his gun trained on the two, “you holding a kid hostage is pretty high on my list.”

The gunner smirked. They hadn’t even bothered to wear masks. Just cold blue eyes and a plain, regular face – like he could be anybody on the street.

“His name’s Peter, right?” the gunner asked. “Cute name. Cute kid. Won’t make a cute corpse.”

Tony was already stepping forward. “Don’t you fucking-”

“Let’s not, buddy,” a voice said behind him, and Tony felt the weight of a gun barrel press against the back of his head. Tony swore under his breath. “Gun, Stark. Give it.”

Tony met Peter’s eyes again. _Be calm? You’ll be okay? I love you?_

Tony Stark was an intelligent man, and an intelligent man could run the scenarios. He could see it playing out before him, moment by moment: he could refuse, shoot Peter’s captor and die – but Peter might make it out. He could give the gun over and be shot by his kid’s side. He could give Peter the all-clear to fight, and maybe then they’d both die, but maybe neither of them would-

No. It was too risky when there were guns to their heads to make Peter move. He wouldn’t make it.

Slowly, Tony held up the gun, pointing it to the ceiling and removing his finger from the trigger. A hand stretched out and took it, Tony’s hands wide open and raised in surrender. Outside, police sirens were nearing. Tony looked around the room in desperation for something to use, something to help – but all he saw were dead bodies, pools of blood and the scared eyes of the trapped civilians, watching Tony and Peter be held at gunpoint.

“What do you want?” Tony asked. “What can I do for you to let us out of this?”

The gunner tilted his head. “You think we want money?”

“I don’t know,” Tony replied. “You must want something.” Everybody wanted something.

Tony Stark wanted his fucking kid to be okay. Tony Stark wanted to live a good, long life with his fiancé, Pepper, and the kid he considered his son, Peter. Tony Stark wanted to feel peace right in his core.

But Tony never was one for getting what he truly wanted.

The gunner let out a bark of laughter and Peter winced as the barrel was pressed harder against his temple. “Say goodbye to Peter Parker,” he announced, “because the only thing we want is for you to be dead.”

Tony’s body went cold. There was no negotiating with people who wanted nothing other than your head on a stick.

“If you kill me, will you let him go?” Tony asked.

“Mr Stark-”

Tony spoke over Peter’s plea. “Let him go, come on. Let him leave. Then shoot me. He’s not the one you want.”

“He’s not,” the gunner agreed. “But he should at least watch you die, don’t you think?”

“No,” Tony ground out. “Let him go.”

He knew what the answer would be before it was said, so he let the words wash over him instead. They weren’t letting Peter go because Peter was going to die right after Tony. Tony was supposed to be their main event and Peter would be their encore.

_Be calm? You’ll be okay? I love you?_

“Peter,” Tony whispered.

“That’s it,” the gunner behind him purred. “Say your goodbye.”

He didn’t want to do what his soon-to-be killer said, but he didn’t want to lose this last moment with Peter. Not when he couldn’t think of an escape plan, not when it was still formulating in his mind, and they might not make it out of this-

_Be calm? You’ll be okay?_

“I love you, kid,” Tony said, meeting Peter’s eyes. “You mean everything to me, okay?”

Peter began to nod before the gunner’s arm tightened around his throat. One of Peter’s arms was soaked in blood, twitching – probably nerve damage, Tony thought – and the other was reached up, his fingers digging deep into his captor’s arm, but not so much that he’d retaliate and shoot.

“I’m sorry, Mr Stark,” Peter said, and Tony thought he might just fucking cry.

“Take that back,” Tony replied. “We’re not doing death bed apologies.”

The metal of the gun was so fucking cold on the back of his head.

Peter whimpered. “I was the one who broke the toaster.”

Tony almost laughed. “What?”

“The toaster. At the compound. It broke last month, remember? You ended up blaming it on Vision? That was me. I put too much in it. I was shooting for the stars and I missed and the entire thing set on fire – it was a disaster.”

Tony did laugh this time, but his head butted against the gun when he did so and the noise died in his mouth.

“I love you, too,” Peter said, like an afterthought.

Then Tony moved.

His plan was half baked and fucking stupid but he couldn’t think-

There were no better options. There were no answers here. They were either dying together or he had the goddamn _chance_ to get them out alive, and Tony would take every minuscule chance he had.

They were here for him, not the kid. The least could do was _try_. For Peter’s sake.

All at once, Tony used his gauntlet’s last charge on the man holding Peter and ducked to the side at the same time.

All at once, Peter yelled and two gunshots went off in tandem.

All at once, Tony span suddenly, sending a punch into the gunner behind him and slamming their head on the table as a body thumped to the ground where Peter and the gunner stood.

Tony turned.

“No.”

He lurched down, ducking beneath the bullet that flew from the still-standing gunner, snatching the shiny, silver handgun that had been pressed against his head. Tony shot back, fast, the bullets landing solidly in the man’s chest, one after another, blood splashing as his body twitched, falling back against a table.

There was silence among the people of the diner, accompanied by a crude mix of police sirens from outside and an old Johnny Cash song playing over the tinny speakers.

“Peter.”

The gun in his hand clattered to the floor and Tony ran, skidding on his knees to Peter’s side where thick crimson blood was spilled across the ground. The booth he laid next to was splattered in it, a fucking Pollock painting of his kid’s insides.

“Peter.”

Peter’s eyes were open, but barely. His breathing was slow, rattling. There was an open wound in his shoulder, entire arm stained red, and there was another only a few centimetres away-

“Shit, kid, no, no, no-”

There was an entrance and exit hole.

Blood drooled out of Peter’s mouth and he coughed with the last slithers of his energy. Red came out, drenching his face.

“Ambulance!” Tony yelled. “Someone! Help! Get me an ambulance!”

Tony’s hands shook as he looked over his kid’s body. Peter drew in a breath and immediately choked. What was he supposed to do? The entrance and exit hole weren’t things he could just press and hold onto- no, they were in his neck.

The bullet had gone through one side and shot out the other side of his throat.

Peter Parker was drowning on his own blood and Tony Stark had no fucking idea of how to help.

Red and blue lights flashed, turning the scene in front of him neon and strobed. Peter, one second, red, then pale, then blue.

“Kid, kid, please,” Tony whispered, his hands finally finding purchase – one on Peter’s side and the other cupping his face, his cheek, his hair. “Please. Please don’t do this. Hold on. Hold on, someone will help.”

_Be calm. You’ll be okay. I love you._

Peter’s lips moved a tiny amount, like he was trying to speak. His eyes were focused only on Tony, though they were close to closing, and Tony watched as his mouth filled slowly with blood that he’d have no choice but to swallow or breath into his lungs.

“Peter,” Tony whispered. “Peter.”

Peter breathed in the blood then spluttered it all back up. He took the moment after he recovered to breath something imperceptible.

“What? Peter?” Tony lowered his ear closer to Peter’s mouth, and waited, watching out of the corner of his eyes as tears he hadn’t known he’d been crying were dropping, one by one, into the blood on Peter’s face.

“ _Hol’… my… han’…_ ”

Tony moved without hesitation, gripping Peter’s hand for all he was worth.

Around him, suddenly, was sound. So much of it. People moving, yelling. Wheels rolling on tile. Orders being shouted.

Tony only knew Peter, though. Only knew his kid, dying right before him on a random Wednesday afternoon.

“It’s okay,” Tony lied. “Just stay calm. You’ll be okay.” _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ “I love you so much, Peter,” Tony whispered. “So much.”

Peter didn’t close his eyes, but the rattle-like breathing stopped. The blood simply pooled in his mouth until it overflowed. His eyes lost their shine.

Tony was pushed aside suddenly as the paramedics moved to Peter’s side, shouting orders at each other as they assessed the situation. Tony kept his hand in Peter’s – there was nothing in the world that could make him let go.

Tony knew the paramedics would stop soon. They’d realise that Peter Parker was beyond saving. It would be a long, long time after this day before anyone realised that Tony Stark was, too.

**Author's Note:**

> lmao hope u had fun  
> remember that false sense of security i mentioned  
> yeah  
> that


End file.
